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Updated: September 2, 2025
As the men started forward, banging the mahogany banisters with the corners of the trunk at every step, Mrs. Brewster-Smith stepped in, immaculate as to sheer collar and cuffs, crisp and tailored as to suit, waved and netted as to hair, and chilled steel and diamond point as to will-power. "Oh, Genevieve, I didn't see you there! I didn't know why they stood there waiting so long.
"From whom?" countered Geneviève. "None of your business, as I can see." He eyed her narrowly. "But my orders is to keep every one nosin' around here without no good raison out of the place and I don't think you're here to rent, nor your friend, neither. Besides, there ain't nothin' to rent." Mrs. Brewster-Smith colored. The insult to her ownership of the premises stung her to resentment.
Brewster-Smith concentrated in her fine eyes, just brushed the heart of her listener as with a passing wing, hovered a moment, and dropped demurely to the tablecloth. In the meantime two sorely perplexed citizens were grappling with the problem of the disappearance of two highly respectable women from their homes under circumstances calculated to give the greatest anxiety to faithful "party" men.
Such a vote of confidence implied accepted responsibility, and he acknowledged to himself that he wanted to and would dodge the unwelcome burden. He turned a benign Jovian expression on Mrs. Brewster-Smith and condescended to explain. "I have considered what is best for you, and I will myself see Allen and request him to take your real-estate affairs in charge again.
She opened the door, hesitated and a hint of mischief flashed across her face. "I'll tell you just the person for you, Penny. Really. Marriage is her profession. She's very experienced. Temporarily out of a job Alys Brewster-Smith." He snatched a carnation from the glass on his desk and threw it at her. It struck a closed door. The outer door opened just then, and Mr. Martin Jaffry stepped in.
"We heard you two love birds cooing and billing, and thought we might as well begin," said Alys Brewster-Smith. "Regularity is of the highest importance in bringing up a child." Cousin Emelene was reading the Sentinel. George's quick eye glanced at the headlines: Candidate Remington Heckled by Suffragists. Ask Him Leading Questions.
Alys Brewster-Smith and a certain Cousin Emelene. His manner was arid. Miss Sheridan chanced to know that the ladies were sheltered in the exclusive boarding-house of one Mrs. Gallup, out on Erie Street, and informed him to this effect in the fewest possible words. Mr. Evans whistled absently a moment, then formally announced that he should be absent from the office for perhaps an hour.
Instinctively his need directed him toward the Remington place. Mrs. Brewster-Smith was glad to see him. Between George's hurried departure and Jaffry's return several of the specters that haunt such women's lives looked boldly in at the window.
"Really" Alys had recovered her hauteur and the aloofness becoming the situation "I know nothing whatever about what measures my agents have thought it advisable to take." Mr. Glass choked and glanced uneasily at Miss Eliot. That lady grinned, almost the grin of a gamin. "You needn't look at me, Mr. Glass. I don't represent Mrs. Brewster-Smith." "Oh, I know, I know," Mr.
Geneviève looked to the right, where the car should be waiting her. It was gone. Evidently the indignant Mrs. Brewster-Smith had expedited the departure. Miss Eliot read her discomfiture. "My car is right down here behind that palatial mansion with the hole in the roof and the tin-can extension.
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